Chapter 18
I BURY myself in the book I still haven’t officially checked out from the library—sonnets, poetry, pieces of love and longing that feel like fragments of a world I’ll never belong to. It’s the only way to push away the memories of last night but at the same time it makes me wish it never ended.
The way his lips swallowed me whole. The way my body burned against his. The way I wanted it.
I don’t care if I skip over words that are too difficult to read. I just need something to keep me from overthinking.
I brush my teeth and curl up on my bed, pulling my sweater over my knees. I don’t have the courage to leave the room.If I go to the kitchen, I might run into Garret. And I have no idea how to face him—how he’ll look at me.
Does this mean he likes me?
Does this mean he still hates me? The last thought makes my stomach churn, so I focus on the book, forcing my eyes over the words.
Then my phone chimes.
Leo.
Leo: Good morning, gorgeous. I hope you haven’t forgotten about me.
Guilt crawls up my spine, a million tiny ants swarming, biting at my insides. I force a smile when another text comes through—this time with a cowboy hat emoji.
Rose: How could I? How many guys do you think I know that look good in cowboy hats?
Leo: I’m hoping it’s just me. ;)
“Are you ready for your tutoring lesson?”
The deep voice makes me flinch. My phone slips from my hands, landing on the bed like a hot coal.
Garret stands at the foot of my bed, staring at the screen. At Leo’s name. At the text.
He’s shirtless.
Every sculpted muscle of his chest and abdomen is carved with shadows, disappearing beneath the band of his black sweatpants. His damp hair curls at the ends, fresh from a shower, the scent of his soap teasing my nose.
I swallow hard.
“Good morning,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t think you were serious about the tutoring thing.”
“You haven’t eaten,” he states, like it’s fact, not concern. “I was waiting for you in the kitchen.”
Warmth unfurls in my chest, slow and foreign.
No one has ever cared if I ate.
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
His eyes flick to my phone again before locking onto mine, his voice cool and unreadable. “I notice everything.”
Heat spreads across my cheeks. Did he read Leo’s texts?
I close the book, marking my place before pulling the hem of my sweater down my thighs. “I’ll be right there.”
But he doesn’t move.
His eyes travel down my legs, stopping at my bare feet.
“You should wear socks,” he mutters. “Or slippers. The floor is cold.”
I blink. Garret doesn’t care about things like that.
“I don’t have clean socks,” I admit quietly. “I don’t own slippers.”
His frown deepens. His gaze sweeps the room before landing on my backpack. The only thing I own.
“Do you want me to grab some clothes for you from the house?” He means John’s house.
I shake my head. “What you saw in my dorm room? That’s everything I own.”
Something flickers across his expression, something I can’t quite read. Without a word, he moves to the dresser, pulls open a drawer, and takes out a brand-new pair of socks.
“Sit.” His voice is quiet but firm.
I hesitate, but my body obeys.
He kneels in front of me.
“What are you doing?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He looks up, his expression unreadable. “Making sure you don’t get cold.”
His fingers wrap around my ankle, warm and firm, as he pulls the sock over my foot. The oversized fabric slides up my calf, covering my skin. Then he does the same with the other foot, his touch surprisingly gentle.
I don’t know how to stop the goosebumps trailing up my arms.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond, just stands and nods toward the door. “Let’s go.”
When I step into the kitchen, I freeze.
The island is covered with food—fresh pastries, soft bread, butter, muffins, colorful fruits arranged in careful rows.I’ve seen this spread every morning, but I always reach for the same thing.
Strawberries.
They’re safe. Familiar.
Garret moves to the espresso machine, his broad back flexing as he grabs a cup from the cabinet. Effortless. Controlled.
He presses a button, and the scent of rich coffee fills the space.
Then, without turning around, he asks, “Do you want some?”
I stiffen.
“C-can I?”
He spins around to face me, his gaze locking onto mine.
“Why would you ask me that?”
I swallow hard.
“Because I wasn’t sure if I was allowed one.”
His jaw tightens. “Have you ever had coffee before?”
I hesitate. Then shake my head. “No.”
The espresso machine hums. The silence between us is louder.
Then, barely audible, he murmurs, “You like strawberries.”
I nod.
“Is there anything you don’t like?”
I glance at the pastries, my throat tightening. “Cinnamon.”
His brows draw together. “Why?”
I fight the bile rising in my throat. “I just don’t. It’s disgusting.”
He doesn’t push. Just nods once. Then, without another word, he walks over to the island and—one by one—starts removing selected pastries, cakes, and muffins.
My chest tightens. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t eat something you hate.”
I stare at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he wraps the discarded pastries in plastic and slides them into the fridge. “For my housekeeper,” he explains. “I’ll make sure to order nothing with cinnamon.”
I don’t understand. After last night, something has changed. I don’t know what to do with this version of him. “You don’t have to go to all the trouble,” I whisper.
Garret turns. Walks toward me. Lifts me off the floor.
“Garret!”
My stomach somersaults as he places me on the counter, stepping between my legs. His warmth presses into me. “What are you doing?”
He reaches for a square of pineapple, lifting it just before my lips. “Open.”
The juice drips down his fingers, a golden trail glistening against his skin. Heat curls low in my stomach. I part my lips, biting the fruit from his fingers.
His gaze darkens as he watches me lick the lingering juice from my lips. “You like it?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
His lips curve.
For the next thirty minutes, he feeds me, learning what I like, what I don’t.
And for the first time—I feel seen.